


Exit Wounds

by makolin (orphan_account)



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Asexuality, F/F, F/M, Gen, Gender Dysphoria, Gender Identity, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, MAJOR slurs cw, Sibling Incest, Transphobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-14
Updated: 2014-11-10
Packaged: 2018-02-21 03:50:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2453645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/makolin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern AU where Mako identifies as genderqueer and struggles to cope with leaving Bolin behind in order to preserve their own mental stability. Gender-neutral pronouns are used for Mako through the entire work, unless the speaking or narrated character is unaware of their identity.</p><p>Named after the songs <i>Exit Wounds</i> by both Placebo and The Script. Listen and learn. Updates every Monday!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Ocean

**Author's Note:**

> All of these moments are lost in time  
> You're caught in my head like a thorn on a vine  
> To forever torment me and I wonder why  
> Do I wish I'd never known you at all  
> \---  
> The Ocean (Moon Version) - The Bravery
> 
>   
> just a flashback chapter to start off. whoops. this is my first published fic, so I'd appreciate feedback! 

                Mako lingers in front of the mirror a little while longer than usual that morning, admiring the outfit they’d spent all morning meticulously coordinating. Their roommate, Huan, had left abnormally early to set up for some art exhibition, giving them the freedom to explore their gender presentation before heading out for the day. Normally, the brooding artist lounged around the nicely-sized apartment until lunchtime, forcing the genderqueer individual to present as the plain, average boy whose body they still lived in.

They’d thought about coming out to the guy once or twice, but they still couldn’t pin down his true opinion on queers like them. One day he’d ramble about how inspired he was by the LGBTQIA+ art movements of the 21st century, and the next he’d mention how he saw a “tranny” in the bathroom, unable to tell “what it really was.” They couldn’t risk losing the living situation, anyway. They’d only found the place by chance and Huan, being made of money, barely charged them any rent.

                They carefully inspect every aspect of the coordination: tasteful eyeliner, a checkered scarf thrown loosely around their neck, silver bangles on the left wrist, black tank top with open sides and “PARADISE” across the chest in holographic sequins, black suede booties with platform heels, and bright white skinny jeans accentuating their long, almost spindly legs.

                “ _It’s the jeans, I think._ ” The voice, a vague reminisce of a time nearly forgotten, brings their moment of vanity to a screeching halt. It’s familiar and well-meaning, but the memory cuts through their conscience like the razors they’d touched to their skin so often in those days. “ _They make you look gay.”_

_“Shut up, Bo.” Their brother was the most open-minded person they knew, unfortunately leading him to be oh-so-easily influenced by their new, frighteningly conservative foster parents at the tender age of 16._ _“You’re not helping.”_

_“What? You don’t want to look like a fag on your first date with this girl.”_

_“I told you to stop saying that.” They hated to hear that twisted, disgusting word from him._

_“Date?”_

_“No, idiot. Fag.” Bolin was an avid user of the slur, just like any other self-respecting straight guy. Although, Mako wasn’t so sure he would be if it wasn’t for their guardians’ homophobic tendencies. He wasn’t normally the type to use demeaning words like it._

_“God, you’re still stuck on that? It’s not like you don’t hear it all the time at school.”_

_“Yeah, but I’d like to stop hearing it at home.” They glance down at the outfit they’d picked out for the date: White skinny jeans, a purple plaid flannel (with the sleeves rolled down to hide their scars), black dress shoes, and that same red scarf they never left the house without. The same one they’d worn the first time they met Korra (which she had complimented). They didn’t think they looked particularly homosexual. “So what if I look gay? It’s not like that’s a bad thing.” What made someone look ‘gay,’ anyway?_

_“I was just trying to help.” Bolin sounds genuinely hurt._ Shit. _“Also, are you sure Korra’s straight? She’s always struck me as a little bit of a dyke.” The comment hits Mako like a brick, and any sympathy they had for their brother in the moment before evaporates._

_“Get out.”_

_“I’m just saying, bro. I don’t want her to go off with some girl and leave you heartbroken.”_

_“I said get out.”_

_“What if she’s, like, using you as a beard? Because she thinks you’re gay?”_

_“Get OUT, Bolin!” They throw the nearest object- a glass off the table by their bed- in his general direction. It’s not just their brother’s insensitivity that triggers it. It’s a culmination of an entire life of abusive bullshit, and receiving such from somebody who had once been the very dearest to them is absolutely the last they can handle. Bolin’s reflexes had always been top-notch, and he smacks the glass out of the air, sending it straight to the opposite wall. It shatters with an ear-splitting sound almost like a shriek, as piercing as Mako’s near-murderous gaze into their brother’s frightened eyes._

_“Don’t fucking talk to me like you’re trying to help. I didn’t ask for your bigoted opinion. I didn’t ask for anyone’s opinion. I didn’t ask for anything!” They choke back a sob, and Bolin can’t help but watch as his brother descends into total chaos, into a rant seemingly unrelated to their previous conversation. He’d eventually learn that it was related. It was related in every way, and he’d hate himself for ever thinking it wasn’t._

_“I didn’t ask for mom to leave us! I didn’t ask for dad to go off the deep end! I don’t need you, the only real family I have left, telling me that I look like a fag and that my could-be-girlfriend is a lesbian, okay?!”_

_“Mako, I-“_

_“I don’t care.” A lie. “Just get out, please,” they’re full-on sobbing at this point, and it takes them a moment to gain enough composure to finish the thought, “before I hurt you more than I already have.”_

_Bolin doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand why his brother, the strongest person he knows, is blaming himself for their family situation. How had he hurt him? How was it his fault that their mom had suddenly picked up and left without a trace? That their dad had taken a liking to beating them, especially himself because he could “take it,” unlike his “sissy brother?” That they were now under the care of two people who couldn’t give less of a shit about them, unless it was to plant the seeds of conservative Evangelicalism in their young minds? Sure, Mako was in touch with his feminine side, but he didn’t see how that made him a sissy. He always stood up for himself and Bolin when the younger brother was too afraid to speak his own mind._

_The day he came to understand would not occur for four excruciating years._

_Mako stands in silence for a few minutes after Bolin shuts the door behind him. They had just lost the last person essential to keeping them sane, keeping them from slashing red, red lines all over their ivory skin. Skin so long untouched by the cruel sun in the sky while its bearer hid themself away from the world which did not accept them, and would never accept them. They had so long thought of Bolin as the true sun in their life, as they produced none of their own light, much like the moon. It all came from him, he who had remained positive throughout all their strife, and they were only able to reflect how much they received._

_That skin would not be touched by its true sun for four excruciating years._

_It had taken them a while to realize what their feelings truly meant. Through all the slurs, the “it’s just a word” and “why do you care so much,” the jokes cracked at completely inappropriate times and simply the blatant lack of understanding of the world around him, they knew they truly loved their brother. There had always been a strange intimacy between them, despite the glaring lack of physical contact, which Mako hated to admit that they craved. They too often caught themself staring, longing, and even lusting sometimes, before forcing the thoughts from their mind with the razor._

_It wasn’t just them who saw the two as something other than brothers, however. They’d been mistaken for lovers on multiple public outings, most likely due to their lack of resemblance to each other. Why people jumped to the conclusion of romance rather than friendship, well, they really didn’t know. Perhaps he really did look like a fag._


	2. Quick Escapes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bolin questions his apparent lack of sexuality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Could I be wrong?  
> Or is this the old song ushering a new dawn?  
> It's been so long  
> But, I can see through this  
> Signs are screaming "don't go, think of what you don't know"  
> \---  
> Quick Escapes - Versant

_Bolin isn’t one for sex, no matter how many times he tries to convince himself that it’s only natural to enjoy the act. He pursues a girl every once and a while, but the spark seems to die as soon as either one strips down past their underwear. Maybe he’s not ready. Maybe he’s not looking at the right gender. Who knows? He wouldn’t dare question his heterosexuality under the conservative fanatics they have for guardians. The only girl who stays with him for any amount of time is Korra’s deadpan cousin, Eska, whose twin brother seems to show an unnerving fondness for him as well._

_Of course, Korra had been first. They’d met at school, sharing Coach Toza’s co-ed gym class in the tenth grade. The girl was rowdy, loudmouthed, and incredibly headstrong. Her voice could always be heard among those of the boys during a particularly intense game of flag football, and whichever team she was placed on was guaranteed to win. Bolin’s first real impression of her occurred during one of these games- watching her tackle Tahno, the most feared senior in the entire school, and tear off the Velcro flags like a wild animal. Her strength was Amazonian, taking him down with a good shoulder to the chest, and her olive skin and unruly, ebony tresses almost make her look like one. Striking a victory pose, she pinned the greasy bastard under her cleated foot as if he were the prize of a long and laborious hunt._

_Oh, Bolin fell for her. He fell so hard he had barely managed to pick himself up off the ground before Mako swooped in, kicking him straight back down and snatching the doe-eyes huntress who’d been disappointed by a “lack of performance” the night before. Maybe he still resents Korra for that. Maybe that’s why he speaks of her in hateful words spat like acid, despite once adoring her more than he thought he ever could another person. He had been quick to forgive his brother (as usual), but something kept him from ever again thinking of the girl with anything but distaste._

_Deep down, he knows what that “something” is. He pretends it’s not there, even going so far as to attempt to eradicate it, but it’s ever-present, everlasting. The way the boy’s chest swells up when he passes his brother in the hallways at school, the way they look at each other in the half-light while stealing away to Mako’s room each night, simply absorbing the silence that only seems to come when their foster parents are distracted by sleep. Nothing more than a few touches ever happens between them, and he knows nothing ever can, but it’s nice to imagine just for a while that something **could**._

_Bolin is jealous of Korra. He’s deeply, vehemently, irrationally jealous of her ability to possess the affections of someone who can only rightfully love him as blood. Those three words sacred to every human’s heart are only whispered under the context of family, as anything more would push the holy boundaries of virtue._

_The brothers’ second set of foster parents barricades these feelings, forcing them deep within him, holding them there like a vice. They’d been away from their biological parents for four years, having left at the ages of 12 and 13. At the time of their transfer away from the first set of guardians due to abuse behaviors exhibited by the couple, on each other and the boys, Bolin is 16 and Mako is 17. The new “parents” are a middle-aged white couple that claims to only want the best for them, but really only want to spread their closed-minded conservative ideology to youth to “better the generation.”_

_“One of my coworkers came out as a lesbian today,” the woman reports over dinner one night. “I’ve heard her talk about her kids before- imagine what her **lifestyle** is doing to those children!” She turns to Mako, who’s staring so intently, so furiously at his half-eaten food that Bolin is afraid it might catch fire. “You two are lucky to have us. We’re raising you **right** , so you’ll never end up like that.”_

_“You’re barely raising us,” he mumbles as he pushes away from the table, “you hardly talk to us unless it’s about shit like this.”_

_“Hey!” The man pounds his fist down and brandishes a fork in his opposite hand. “Don’t talk to your mother like that.”_

_“She’s not my mom,” Mako scoffs, whirling around towards the door. “Just leave me alone.”_

_“I’m sick of your mouth. You better learn some respect if you expect to be welcomed in this house.” He gestures around the spacious dining-living area, adding, “You should be grateful to have me and your **mom** ,” practically spitting the last word at the boy. “We’ve given you a **home** , a **life**! Where would you be right now if we hadn’t taken you in? If we didn’t **help** you like we do?” His idea of ‘help’ is skewed- forcing the boys to attend bigoted congregations that only reinforce Mako’s hate and further narrow Bolin’s perception of the world._

_The boy stops just outside the room to watch and listen, knowing that, once again, they’ll put Bolin on the spot as their conservative poster child._

_“He breaks my heart,” the woman sighs, sympathetic tears hanging in her crows’ feet. “I’d love to see both of you boys grow into **nice** young men, but…” Her voice trails off as she turns to Bolin intently, and he returns her gaze with an equal amount of something like fear. “Please, Bolin, promise me that you’ll stay responsible. Let yourself be guided by the word of God, not your brother’s behaviors, okay?”_

_He nods with a small smile, not sure if it’s just a cry for approval or if he really agrees with their philosophy, and glances towards the hallway. Mako’s eyes meet his own, and the smile fades._

_‘Forgive me’, Bolin’s expression pleas._

_‘It’s me who’s failed you,’ his brother thinks, but his expression remains desolate, void of the emotions sending electric shocks through his veins._

_For the first time, Mako’s door is locked when Bolin attempts to join him._

_It’s another month before he’s invited inside again._

_“Is this outfit alright?” His brother asks, striking a couple brooding model poses. “Will Korra like it?” The Amazonian goddess, the very girl he’d pined after with enough passion to move mountains. Of course she’ll like it. Anything looks good on Mako. The twinge of jealousy returns, and the boy’s answer is a catalyst for the violent reaction which will overturn the rest of their lives._

_Mako’s room is vacant behind a closed door the next morning, open windows lending fresh air to the pent-up space, and a tattered, red scarf lies folded at the foot of his still-sleeping brother’s bed._

Four years later, a man fresh out of adolescence with still-soft cheeks, coal-black hair, and eyes like summer aspen leaves lies next to a woman who he can only expect to whisper “it was nice” but “I don’t think it’ll work out” once she awakens. It’s the same way every time- he invites a girl inside for coffee after a date, they work their way to the bedroom, she strips down to her bra (scanning him with bedroom eyes the entire time), and he rolls over to fall asleep.

                The sexual tension between him and another person is unbearable. He hates the way they look at him as if they’re going to eat him alive, as if he’s a toy. The only time he’d ever followed through with the act had been in high school, before knowing much more about it than ‘insert tab A into slot B.” The experience wasn’t particularly enjoyable, even with a girl who obviously had eons more experience. She’s turned out to be a lesbian, anyway, even after dating his brother for a couple months.

                _I wonder where she is now._ He focuses at the soft rise and fall of the blankets next to him, trying to force Korra out of his mind. _Not like it matters._ The girl will wake up soon, rubbing sleep out of her glimmering, emerald eyes. She’ll tame her chestnut-brown locks into submission with her fingers, pull on the white dress she’d stripped off her olive skin so seductively the night before, and shut the door behind her without the thought of a second date crossing her mind.

                Bolin knows why he keeps inviting the girls inside, despite dealing with the prospect of sex every single time. The intense desire for physical intimacy, even just a quick cuddle on the couch, prevents him from allow them to leave at the door with a simple goodnight kiss. Unfortunately, the societal concept that “come in for coffee” means “I want to fuck you” keeps it from ever being as simple as he’d like.

                It’s not necessarily about the intimacy, though. He doesn’t particularly care who it’s with; he just wants something to replicate the fleeting touches and lingering embraces which kept him going so many years ago. For the sake of nostalgia, maybe, or as desperate attempts to satisfy a perpetual inclination for something he couldn’t have. Futile, worthless attempts that only leave him ashamed for ‘teasing’ the girls like that, and asking where the universe went wrong while forging his body from mortal clay, leaving him unable to give the fulfillment they desire.

                The figure next to him stirs, before stretching out her arms in a silent yawn and sitting upright.

                 “Good morning,” she mutters with a sheepish look as she climbs out of bed, clearly bashful of exposing her nearly-naked form to the daylight streaming into the room. Bolin darts his eyes away as he always does, like a child would from two adults kissing on TV (although knowing he wouldn’t get any ‘urges’ anyway). In the corner of his eye, he notices her pick up the white sundress left in a heap on the floor and head for the bathroom. _Any minute now,_ he ponders, _She’ll come out of there and leave like she never knew me._

Her radiant figure emerges from the washroom a few minutes later, short hair finger-styled into place and donning the dress once more. She’s very pretty, really. He’d even go so far to as to say she’s gorgeous, outshining most of the other girls he’d brought home. There were too many to count at this point, but she definitely ranks high.

                “I’d love to stay for breakfast,” she crosses the bedroom to pick up the handbag she’d left hanging on a bedpost the night before, reminding Bolin of the real feelings behind these escapades that hang above his head. “I’ve got to meet up with my brother in half an hour, though” As her goddess-like form makes its way back to the nightstand to pick up her phone, it leans down to peck Bolin on the cheek. “This was nice,” she chimes with a grin. “Let’s do it again sometime, okay?”

                His mind is reeling. _She actually wants to go out again? With me? The celibate* loser?_ “Oh, uh, a-” he stutters, completely taken aback by the enthusiasm. “Alright!”

                She might as well be bouncing with excitement. “What about next Sunday morning? We can go out for the breakfast I’m missing today.”

                “Works for me.”

                “Great! I’ll see you then,” she calls as she whirls around, heading for the front door.

                “See you, Opal!” He calls back. _Well, that was a first._

For once, Bolin feels a glimmer of hope that he may finally feel loved again. Feel admired, cherished, and worthy of affection in the way he had during those stolen nights in Mako’s bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I'm using celibate here to accentuate his lack of knowledge on queer politics. Not implying that aces are celibates.


	3. Infinitesimal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Opal proves herself to be a pivotal figure in the next chapter of Mako's life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s a million, billion, trillion stars but I’m down here low  
> Fussin’ over scars on my soul, on my soul, on my soul, on my soul  
> On my soul, I am so infinitesimal, oh  
> \---  
> Infinitesimal - Mother Mother

                Mako is roused from his daydream-like reminisce by the click of the keypad lock on their apartment door. There they stand in the living room, in broad daylight, dressed like some kind of “tranny freak,” and there’s no time to duck into their room before Huan, glued to his cell phone, enters the foyer with a girl they don’t recognize. His sister, possibly? They remember the first time somebody at a restaurant had referred to Bolin as their boyfriend, grateful that their conscience hadn’t immediately assumed that of these two. The girl notices Mako first, flashing them a smile before launching into an introduction.

                “You must be Huan’s roommate! He’s told me so much about you. I don’t think he talked about anyone else at the exhibition, actually.”

                “Yikes, shut up,” the artist miffs. “You make it sound like I’m in love with him.”

                Ignoring his somewhat insensitive comment, she practically leaps over the couch to introduce herself, “I’m Opal, his sister.” She resembles her brother greatly, they now notice. Her eyes glitter like green tourmaline, in just the same way his do. A way that’s always been a little too familiar for Mako. Her face is rounder, but they share the same near-olive skin tone and deep bistre tresses. An unlikely pair to be mistaken for a couple, they think.

                “Good God, give him some space.” Huan finally glances up from the device, briefly scanning his roommate before reverting his eyes. “Hey, Mako.” He appears slightly puzzled and almost seems to… _blush?_ “Nice outfit. I brought back some cards from the exhibition if you want to send one to your girlfriend, or your family. Let them know how you’re doing. Get the word out on my undiscovered genius.” He lets out a groan before plopping down on the couch and closing his eyes.

                They’re taken aback by the passive reaction. “Oh, uh, thanks.” Is he just not paying attention? “You mean Asami, right?”

                One eye opens. “Yeah, who else?”

                “I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking.” Huan covers his face with a pillow in exasperation. They were definitely thinking, but not about the girlfriend part. They’d dated briefly after first meeting, but their friendship had always been stronger than their romantic bond. A few dates were all it took to prove that the two had little chemistry, to prove that Mako still hadn’t let go of the feelings haunting him since childhood, hovering in his head like captured ghosts. She remained their close friend, but was now dating a girl who’d been Mako’s friend since high school. They guess Huan hadn’t gotten the memo.

                “Oh, by the way,” Opal’s voice pipes up from across the foyer. She’s migrated to the kitchen since her introduction, drifting through the spacious apartment as if carried by the air around her. “I really love your outfit. It’s nice to see guys branching out from hoodies and basketball shorts.”

                “I don’t wear basketball shorts,” Huan mumbles from beneath his cushion. He’d barely glanced at the sequined tank, heels, or eyeliner. Had he not truly noticed? Did he not care? Was he so disgusted he didn’t know how to react? Why did he blush? Was he embarrassed? Would he spend the entire next day talking about his tranny roommate to his classmates?

                “You don’t count.” The girl works her way back to the living area, snatching the pillow from her brother and tossing it onto the floor. “What did you say your name was?” Huan groans again and rolls over, burying his face in the arm of the couch.

                “Oh, uh,” Mako is slightly started by the address, having nearly tuned out of the conversation while pondering the pair’s somewhat neutral reactions to their presentation choice. “I didn’t say it.”

                “Well,” Opal inquires, “What is it?”

                “It’s Mako.”

                Her eyes light up. “Ooh, is it short for anything?”

                “Nope, just Mako.

                “That’s really interesting,” she notes, adopting a look of inquisition. “I went out with a guy last night with a brother named Mako, not short for anything either. Said he hadn’t seen him in a few years, though.”

                They feel as if a long-forgotten weight on their chest suddenly becomes eight times as heavy, physically dragging them down a bit, making them stumble forward. The words to reply to Opal are lost, scattered among cinematic memories and trapped underneath scars. They finally manage to force a single word in trepidation, “Really?”

                “Mmhm!” The girl gives an enraptured nod. “He was super sweet and really knew how to respect my boundaries, unlike so many guys these days.” Her gemstone eyes gleam with adoration and the familiarity of the look is almost too much to bear. “We’re going out again next Sunday. I can hardly wait!” She throws herself across a couch opposite Huan’s, feigning a fainting spell, complete with the back of her dainty hand drawn to her forehead. “He made me feel like royalty, Mako. Has anyone ever made you feel like that, just by the way they look at you? The way they admire you, but not with prying eyes, you know, with respect?”

                _You have no idea,_ they think. _What am I so worried about, though? There’s no way it’s him. If he was in this city, he’d have found me ages ago._

“Mako?”

                “Sorry,” they mutter, sinking into a nearby chair. “I haven’t dated anyone long enough to know.”

                “Well, this was only my first date with him and I can already tell we’re perfect for each other. You’ve seriously never felt like that?”

                “Not really.” _Yeah, I have._ “I guess I’m just not a very romantic person.”

                “It makes sense,” she consoles. “I didn’t mean to pressure you.”

                “It’s fine.” A few moments of silence follow the utterance, solidifying the air with tension. “You weren’t pressuring me. I’m glad to finally be able to talk to someone, at least a little.”

                “That’s good to hear! I guess I have a knack for getting people to open up,” she chimes with a wink, then glances at her brother. He is clearly asleep by now, evidenced by the faint snores emerging from his heap of a figure every few moments. “He’s a mess, isn’t he? How much time does he spend at home?”

                “He usually sticks around until noon. All his classes this semester are late in the day.”

                “Do you have class in the morning, before he leaves? How do you know he’s still here?”

                “Oh, I,” they curse under their breath, frustrated that she’s brought up the subject of school. “I don’t have classes.”

                “Already graduated?”

                “Nah, I dropped out of high school during senior year. Decided not to go to college.”

                “Do you have a job?”

                “Yeah, I work at a coffee shop most mornings and then at a restaurant in the evenings. Off on Sundays, though.”

                “So Huan leaves when you come back for a break?”

                “Yep.”

                “Opal,” Huan stammers in half-sleep. “Quit… prying. He… hates that.”

                “She’s fine, dude,” Mako replies, “I don’t mind.”

                “Whatever… You always get pissed when I...” He drifts back off, reburying his head in the crook of the couch arm.

                “I’d really like to get him back on his feet, Mako,” Opal sighs. “I hate seeing him like this. When he lived at home, he used to complete an entire new sculpture almost every week! He won awards all over our hometown. He was the pride of our family. I don’t know what happened.”

                “Did he move out right after high school?”

                “I’m surprised he hasn’t told you any of this,” she ponders. “Well, no I’m not. He’s never been the most talkative. But yeah, he got this big scholarship to RCSA* three years ago and moved out as soon as possible. He hasn’t visited or anything, and I’ve only come here a couple of times. You weren’t here the last time, which was… a year ago? I think?”

                “I moved in six months ago. My old roommate was a douche,” _And then some,_ they add in their conscience. “I don’t know how I put up with it for so long.”

                “Did they kick you out?” Mako notices her use of a neutral pronoun, rather than ‘he or she’ or just ‘he.’

                “Kind of. I told him some pretty personal information and his asshole quotient went up about 200%. Probably a ploy to get me to leave.”

                “That’s too bad. Did it have to do with him at all? Or, like, was it something that made him uncomfortable?”

                “Nope, nothing to do with him. Just something I thought telling him would make my stay there a little easier. What a joke.” Opal studies them for a moment, almost eerily, as if she’s a psychic attempting to see directly into their thoughts.

                “Wait!” She leaps up from her couch, proclaiming, “You’re nonbinary, aren’t you?” The tense air in the room seems to shatter like glass. Mako stares at her, dumbfounded by the accuracy of her guess. “I can’t believe I didn’t figure it out sooner! I mean, your outfit was a dead giveaway, how did I not know?”

                “My presentation doesn’t really… have anything to do with it…” They can barely muster the response, their voice catching on the nervous lump rising in their throat.

                “Ok, ok. I’m sorry. You’re right. I’m just so excited, though! I mean, Huan is too! It’s like you guys were destined to be roommates!”

                “Holy shit, what? Huan? No way.”

                Her eyes grow wide in panic. “You mean he’s not out to you?” Oh, uh. Well.”

                “It’s fine. I’m sure he had his reasons.” _Yeah, like this being a piece of personal information that he probably doesn’t want his sister announcing to everyone._

                “Ok, I just… I shouldn’t have assumed. I shouldn’t have outed him. I feel like an idiot. He’s just so open with the family that I forgot.”

                “Don’t worry about it. It’s better that I know.” _Is it?_ “What’s his identity? Is it specific?”

                “He’s identified as a demiguy since he was 15.” She touches a finger to her lips in a questioning gesture. “I’m still not entirely clear on it, but it basically means he’s partially male and partially N.B.”

                “That’s news to me. He hasn’t said a word about it.”

                “He was probably afraid you wouldn’t understand. You’re not out to him either, are you?”

                “No. I’m afraid of the same thing.”

                “Mako,” she places her hand over theirs in comfort, “If anyone understands, it’s him.”

                “I’m not like him, though. I’m not a guy at all.” They shake her hand away, crossing their arms. “Plus, he throws the word ‘tranny’ around like it doesn’t mean anything.”

                “Oh?”

                “Yeah, genderqueer. Or genderfluid. I’m not really sure.”

                “Well, I’m sure he’ll get it either way. He probably just uses that word because he’s insecure. You know, like how some closet gay guys use ‘fag’ all the time?”

                “ _You don’t want to look like a fag.”_ That familiar voice winds through their head again like a wave of nausea, before Opal interrupts it.

                “I want you to talk to him once he wakes up, okay?” Mako is shocked to notice that Huan is still asleep, despite his sister’s zealous expression of her realization.

                “Alright. Jesus, thank you,” they breathe. “That’s an incredible weight off my chest. Even though I didn’t technically _tell_ you.”

                “What are you thanking _me_ for? I should be thanking you. I think it’ll be a big help for Huan to have someone else like him.”

                “Yeah, I’m sure.”

                “It will.” The corners of her mouth turn up in an appreciative smile as she leans down to embrace Mako, hugging them more tightly than they’d been hugged in years. They can’t help but grin, leaning into the gesture. It feels incredible. “Oh, and, before I forget,” she adds as she leans away, “What are your pronouns? I’ve been using ‘he’ this whole time. I didn’t even think about it, sorry!”

                “I use they-them. It’s ok that you didn’t ask right away.” They chuckle, “Most people don’t even ask.”

                “I’ll be sure to use those from now on,” she reassures.

                “And do me a favor-“

                “Hm?”

                “Don’t say anything about this to the guy you’re dating.” Mako couldn’t take the chance, even if it was slim. Bolin likely hadn’t left Ba Sing Se after graduation, but the possibility was still real. He also could have moved to Republic City only recently, explaining why their inevitable reunion hadn’t come sooner.

                “Oh, I’m sure he’d understand! You actually remind me of him a lot. It’s kind of scary.”

                “Wow, thanks.”

                “I’m just saying, you two are so similar! You’d probably get along really well. But I won’t. Not until you meet him, at least.”

                “I’d appreciate that.”

                “Speaking of meeting, why don’t you join us for breakfast next week? Huan said something about your girlfriend?”

                “Oh, she’s not my girlfriend. Just a good friend.”

                “Well, she can still come! I’d love for you to meet Bolin.” She pauses thoughtfully. “Wow, I didn’t even tell you his name earlier, did I?”

                “No,” they whisper, voice choked by the strangling confirmation. “You didn’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Republic City School of the Arts


	4. Give A Little More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mako forgets about his impending reunion with his brother in more than one way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates will be reduced to _Mondays only_ starting today!
> 
> I'm not falling in love with ya, I'm not falling in love  
> 'til I get a little more from you baby ohhh  
> Get a little more from you baby  
> \---  
> Give A Little More - Maroon 5

                

                The chaotic murmur of dining guests whispers past Mako’s ears as they make their way to the back of the Jasmine Dragon, ready to clock out and hang up their apron. The three-to-six Saturday shift seemed to drag on for ages, despite being the shortest of the week. Perhaps it was the nerves, the foreboding atmosphere surrounding the week since Opal’s reveal causing substantial perturbation. “ _Why not?”_ They’d replied to her invitation. There were plenty of reasons not to. Too many to count, in fact.

                “See you, Mako,” a fellow server calls upon noticing his coworker heading out. “Good luck on your date tomorrow!”

                “It’s not a date, Hasook, but thanks,” they counter.

                “Whatever. We all know you still like her.”

                _More like I still like **him**. _ The thought is intrusive, but not necessarily false. _Yikes._

The walk back to their apartment is balmy, with the early autumn sunset filtering through lush green and gold treetops creating leopard-spot patterns on the sidewalk. A gentle breeze rustles accumulating piles of fallen leaves, sending them dancing across the street. It’s an unnaturally warm day for September, causing Mako to peel off their outer jacket and scarf.

                Despite the pleasant weather and scenery, an impending sense of doom charges their heart with palpitations. They still hadn’t talked to Huan about their gender, despite Opal’s plea. He had been more distant than usual since first witnessing Mako’s getup a week before, leading them to believe he wasn’t as accepting as his sister had assured. _I have to do it tonight_ , they think. _I’ll never do it if I don’t do it now._

                The artist is lounging on the living room carpet in front of the television when they arrive home, blankly watching _Aiwei:_ _The Human Lie Detector_ interview a man with graying hair and half-moon glasses.

                “ _We’ve all heard the rumors about you setting up the evidence against Cabbage Corp. Can we believe these rumors?”_ Aiwei asks, his trademark nose chain glinting under the blinding stage lights. The camera pans to the other man, with a slight zoom for emphasis.

                “ _Absolutely not,”_ he replies with a stony face. “ _These rumors are false, perpetrated by my corporate enemies!”_ A pan back to the interviewer reveals his penetrating gaze. The effect is amplified by sinister music, building to his reply.

                _“You’re lying.”_ The music concludes in a fierce complication of strings and brass, and the camera hones in on the graying man’s horrified expression. Bright red letters slam onto the screen— _EXPOSED!—_ justas Huan sighs apathetically and switches the television off, sitting up and turning around to face Mako.

                “I can’t believe people can watch these shows. They’re so pointless,” he says.

                “Why are you watching it, then?”

                “My _Project Runway_ rerun ended and it was on next.”

                “And _Runway_ has a point?”

                “Yes!” He counters, “ _Project Runway_ is about passions,” he clutches his chest, “hopes,” he reaches toward the ceiling, “and dreams!” He gestures to his head, before flopping back down on the carpet. “Corporate politics are absolutely pointless.”

                “Whatever you say,” they groan in reply. “Who was that, anyway? He looked familiar.”

                “Aiwei, the human lie detector.”

                “No, dork, the one he was interviewing.”

                “Oh. I don’t know. I wasn’t paying attention.” He rises from the floor, jumping up to whack a blade of the ceiling fan. It spins around halfheartedly. “You have a good shift?”

                “I guess.” They ponder, “You’re talkative today. Are you drunk?”

                “Nah, I was on the phone with Opal earlier. Got some good news.”

                “Oh?”

                Huan explains that she’s moving into their extra bedroom next week. Evidently their mother’s sister had recently moved in at home and treated Opal as if she was useless.

“I thought she stressed you out.” The thought of Opal moving in stresses _Mako_ out. The possibilities that follow nearly give them a migraine just in theory- Bolin spending hours on end in their apartment. Bolin and Opal committing PDAs on the couches in the living room. Bolin spending the night with a girl in their near vicinity- _Christ._ They cut the thought short with a continued reply. “At least, that’s the impression I got last Sunday.”

                “Nah, she’s great. I was just super down after the exhibition.” He tosses his sleek, black hair over his shoulder. “No one appreciates _real_ art at this school.”

                “God, you’re pretentious.”

                “Says the one who dresses like some kind of hipster tranny!”

                _Tranny._ There it is again. The word became the new “fag” for Mako after first coming out to their old roommate. _“What, you’re a tranny?”_ He taunted with a laugh, _“No way. I was okay with you being gay, but this is ridiculous.”_

“Huan.” Their tone is hostile, even vengeful. “Cut it out.”

                “What?” He fearfully makes a beeline for the kitchen, clearly reading the detest in their voice.

                “You know what. Stop using that word.”

                “You sound like Opal. What’s the problem with it?” He parks on a barstool.

                “It’s shitty. It’s a slur.”

                “So?” His voice falters. He knows the demeaning value of it, the way it’s used to cut down trans people’s identities.

                “I don’t like it.”

                “Well,” he says, swallowing hard, almost as if to keep from crying. “Get over it.”

                “Are you serious? _Get over it?_ I should tell you the same thing!”

                “What do you mean? I’m not like you!” Mako can practically hear Aiwei’s stoic voice announcing _you’re lying,_ with scarlet letters exposing his lie. The ruby red flush that invades Huan’s face, however, is telling enough. Tears well along his viridian eyes, now bloodshot.

                “What do you mean, like me?”

                “I mean transgender. Genderfuck. Genderqueer. Whatever you call it.” _He knows._ How the hell does he know? “You think I’ve never eavesdropped on your phone calls with Asami or that other girl?”

                They can’t muster a reply. Honestly, the thought had never even crossed their mind. Huan was extremely self-involved, only ever truly focusing on his own problems. The idea of him taking the time to listen to someone else’s strife was somewhat surreal. “Yeah, you think I’m selfish.” It’s as if he’s reading their mind. “I know it’s hard to tell, but I actually do care about you.”

                “No shit? Don’t lie to me.”

                “I do!” Fat tears sweep his flushed cheeks, but he manages to suppress sobs. “Do you know how worried I am about you? You work your ass off six days a week, getting paid just about nothing, and for what?” He slams his palm down on the counter, rattling a sculpture-in-progress resting on the brushed steel surface. “For nothing! For a bunch of prissy clothes and clunky shoes and overpriced makeup! What are you doing with your life, Mako?”

                The room falls silent, the static air charged with emotion. He breathes, “Huan—“ but is cut short by the artist’s continued rant.

                “You think it’s easy for me to live with someone so like me, but they can’t even give me a passing glance? Because they think I’m a selfish asshole? Because they’re convinced that they’re the only person who has real problems? And all they do at home is channel Narcissus?”

                “So you _are_ like me!”

                “Yeah, of fuckin’ course I am! And I’ve known about you from the beginning!” He laughs, “Shit, I could practically _smell_ the queer on you!”

                “Then why did you call me a tranny? Why do you use that word? Why did you tell me to _get over it_?”

                “It’s a personal problem. A habit. I don’t know.” Guilt spreads across his face like water pooling beneath melting ice. “I guess I was testing you.”

                “ _What?”_ The anger surfaces, manifesting in Mako’s eyes and skin, threatening to tear them apart.

                “I thought I was BS’ing myself. About you. Like, making assumptions based on your presentation and attitude. When I got home with Opal on Sunday and you were dressed like that, I knew I couldn’t wait any longer.” He scratches his ear thoughtfully, “I figured if you reacted badly to it, I’d have my proof.”

                “Any self-respecting person would react badly to a slur.”

                “That’s where you’re wrong, bub.” Huan brandishes a finger. “Any self-respecting person _should_ , but they _don’t._ That’s just the way society is.” What he says is the truth. Most people, queer or not, wouldn’t speak up at the use of a slur. Fear of judgment often overcomes the desire to fight back.

                Mako sighs as their roommate calms down, crossing to the sink and wiping his sodden face with a paper towel. The two rest in silence for a moment, maybe even a few minutes, before the conversation continues. “You could have just asked, though,” they point out.

Huan looks up from the sink. “Like you’d have told me, you cryptic bastard.”

                “Shut up.” They can’t help but chuckle. “So you really are demigender?”

                “Yeah. Opal told you, didn’t she?”

                “Yep. While you were asleep on the couch.”

                “Figures.” He makes his way to the refrigerator, removing a cheap bottle of wine. “It’s better that she told you, I guess. Now the weight is off both of us.” He sets it down in front of Mako and pulls two lowball glasses from another cabinet, placing them near the bottle. He was quite fond of cheap wine, they’d noticed, but didn’t seem to own any actual wine glasses.

                “Yeah. It’s nice.”

                “It really is.” Huan returns to his stool, scooching it closer to the corner of the counter where Mako leans. “Pronouns?” He asks it casually, as if to question a new haircut.

                “Neutral.”

                “Hm. Identity?” He pours the first glass half full— the most Mako could stand to drink at one time— and the second all the way to the brim.

                “Genderqueer.” They take a sip from the glass, cringing at the stale, anesthetic flavor. Alcohol had never been their strong suit, even in ‘entry level’ forms. The aftertaste brings about an afterthought, “I think.”

                “Easy enough,” he sighs before taking a hearty swig from his own brimming glass. _Classy._

                “And you?”

                “Demiguy. Masculine pronouns. Nothing too earthshattering.”

                “Alright.”

                “Yep.” Huan chugs the remainder of his glass and refills it, while Mako halfheartedly sips away at his few ounces. They both stare aimlessly into the apartment, awkward silence fizzling between them.  “You excited for breakfast tomorrow?” He makes a shot in the dark, attempting to break the tension.

                _Breakfast? Shit!_ They had completely forgotten in the midst of the conversation. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

                “What’s the problem? Fighting with Asami?”

                “No.” They gesture to their glass. “Hit me.”

                Huan refills it to the top this time before continuing, “What is it, then?” He chugs the top half off his second glass, making Mako shudder. Drunk Huan was something to be feared, lacking boundaries of any kind. The behavior was somewhat familiar, similar to the way Bolin had acted in the final days before Mako’s escape.

                “Well—“

                “Wait, before you get all emotional on me…” He half-jogs to the stereo in the living room, pressing a few buttons and fiddling with his phone for a moment. “Damn it,” he mutters under his breath, “I hate Bluetooth. Come on…” After another moment, a familiar set of opening synths invades the spacious apartment. Mako groans aloud and Huan laughs, “What, you don’t like Maroon 5?”

                “Not particularly. They’re on the radio too often.”

                “And _I’m_ the pretentious one.” He strides back to the kitchen and kills off his second glass of wine, immediately refilling it. “Anyway, what’s the issue with breakfast tomorrow?”

                Mako follows his drinking suit, downing the rest of his second glass. Huan refills it enthusiastically, finishing off the bottle. They figure the best way to cope with a plowed roommate is to get plowed right alongside them. “Opal’s date. I don’t like the sound of him.”

                “Oh, yeah,” Huan chuckles as he heads to the fridge for more booze. “Makes her feel like royalty. Must be a total dick.” Typically, one bottle of wine and a couple shots got him reasonably drunk. Mako needed a few more, but never drank more than a couple glasses at most.

                “It’s not that,” they breathe, forcing down a wave of nausea. “I know him.”

                The artist pokes his head out from behind the fridge door. “Oh shit, ‘s he an ex?”

                “Not exactly.” They’re definitely feeling the effects of the drink now, and Huan’s emergence with a bottle of tequila makes their stomach drop.

                “Alright, then what?” He pours a couple glugs into Mako’s now-empty glass and takes a swig straight out of the bottle. _The point of no return._ They throw back as much of the liquid as possible in one go, prompting a quick round of applause from Huan. “Damn, I’m proud of ya! Y’never drink this much!”

                They aren’t sure what’s prompting them. Usually, the artist would drink himself to sleep while mourning a failed sculpture, and Mako had no part of it. This time was different. Perhaps the thought of encountering Bolin the next morning had something to do with their sudden need for intoxication.

                “Oh my God, you’re killin’ me. Why don’t you wanna see this guy?”

                “We had a thing. In high school. It wasn’t much.” _Two out of three._ They want to vomit.

                “Well, ‘s’not bad,” Huan replies before taking another drink. “You coulda been married or somethin’.”

                Mako laughs aloud, finishing off his tequila and sliding the glass down the counter to prevent Huan from refilling it. “Sometimes I wished we’d have been married.”

                “I get ya.” Huan caps the bottle and returns it to the fridge. “I won’t pry an’more.”

                Mako counters, “I’d like that.”

Huan finds his way to the living room and settles back down on the rug. They follow him, passing the stereo as its voice changes from an obnoxiously pop-y song to a slightly more tolerable tune. They notice Huan’s lips moving, silently mouthing along with the lyrics (At least as well as someone stupid drunk can). Once again, they’re trapped without words. Neither one can articulate any kind of cohesive thought. The entire evening had buzzed with electricity, surged with sheer emotion, making the air in the apartment feel heavy.

                “Sorry,” he mumbles, facing away from Mako.

                “What are you sorry for?”

                “I dunno. I got you drunk.”

                “It’s fine.” They look down at the carpet, inspecting each strand as if to assure themself it’s really there. “It’s not that bad.” _Liar._

Huan turns to face them. “Would’ja kill me if I did something right now?”

                “Depends. That’s pretty vague.”

                The artist’s lips collide with theirs, which adjust instinctively to accommodate the advance.  Mako’s lips are bone-dry from the stress of the previous conversation, but Huan’s are soft and slightly sticky, in a mildly unpleasant but strangely familiar way. They can’t think, can’t react as his hand entwines in their hair, gripping tightly and pulling them closer, deeper into the kiss. His breath might taste of cheap wine and tequila, but they can’t determine it from their own, equally tainted by alcohol. Huan tilts his head in an attempt to force Mako’s lips to part, but their noses knock together awkwardly and he pulls away in a fit of drunken giggles.

The heat which had just begun to manifest between them vanishes, and Mako gazes blankly towards the carpet, unable to fully grasp what they’d just experienced. Sure, they’d kissed people before. Girls, boys, and everything in between. Nothing had come as close to replicating the only _good_ one until now, though. The awkward, silent movements and abrupt end were all too familiar, and they can’t decide if they want the nostalgia to continue. At least, continue with their roommate in drunken stupors.

Huan is nearly rolling with laughter now, minute tears forming at the corners of his eyes. “So,” he sits up to say, managing to stifle another laugh, “Are you gonna kill me?”


	5. Brother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reunion approaches quickly, and neither brother is entirely sure of the reality of the situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up and away he gone away  
> But in a way he gonna stay  
> Oh brother of mine  
> We’ll be singing some day  
> \---  
> Brother - Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros

_7 missed calls – 2 new voicemails – 10 unread texts_

The foreboding string of notifications on their phone reminds them of being a teenager. _12 missed calls from Mom. By the way, you’re going to die when you get home._ They cautiously enter their lock PIN, 2-6-5-4-6, only half-noticing the time of day. 6:18 AM, just under two hours before their breakfast date. They’d woken suddenly to the rather loud low battery notification, its harsh light illuminating their spacious bedroom. The night before is a blur, numbing the bizarre soreness which seems to infect every part of Mako’s body.

                “Please enter your passcode.” 6-2-5-6. “You have _three_ unheard messages. First unheard message sent _yesterday_ at _7:33 PM_.”

                “ _Hi, Mako. It’s Asami. I’m on my way to the airport right now. Give me a call when you get this.”_ Her normally satin-smooth voice sounds distressed, almost tearful.

                “Second unheard message sent _yesterday_ at _8:02 PM_.”

                “ _Hey. I’m sorry for calling so many times, but I don’t know why you’re not answering your phone and I really need to talk to you. It’s important. I’ll try texting.”_ She’s definitely crying this time. They’re baffled by the situation. _How did I miss three phone calls? Why didn’t I hear my phone ringing? How drunk **was** I? _ They hang up from voicemail and open the SMS app, navigating to Asami’s contact.

 

8:07 PM: _I’m at the airport now._

8:07 PM: _My dad just got arrested on live TV. Aiwei, you know? The episode aired at 6. You were probably on your way home from work when it happened._

8:08 PM: _Aiwei said he was lying about planting the CC evidence and a bunch of cops ran onstage… They pinned my dad down and dragged him away in handcuffs. I don’t know if it was real or not._

8:08 PM: _I‘m heading to L.A. to see for myself. He won’t answer any of my calls or texts, either. I’m freaking out._

8:09 PM: _My flight leaves in 20 minutes, so call me by then if you get these. I’m panicking. I just need to hear your voice._

8:29 PM: _We’re boarding now. Just call me in the morning._

                The man on the television last night looked familiar for a reason. Asami’s father had been exposed as a corporate rat on national television— or had he? For all they knew, it could have been an elaborate hoax. They switch back to her contact and tap her 10-digit number, prompting the phone application to reopen. It rings once. Twice. Three times, and a click signals her answer.

                “ _Mako!”_ She audibly sighs. _“Thank God, I thought you were dead.”_

“Sorry. We were drinking last night. I must have passed out by the time you called… I just realized it’s 4 in the morning there. Whoops.”

                “ _It’s ok. I’m just glad to hear your voice. I was freaking out and didn’t know who else to call.”_

 _“_ Korra?”

                “ _She’s on vacation in Europe with her parents. No way to get a hold of her.”_

 _“_ Oh. She didn’t tell me.”

                “ _As expected. She’s still kind of pissed at you.”_

They groan, “God, still?”

                “ _Yeah. She can hold grudges like you wouldn’t believe. Anyway, I’m in L.A. now. Obviously.”_

“Your dad?”

                “ _He’s being held at the LAPD headquarters right now. We’re still waiting on an official report.”_

 _“_ God, Asami, I’m so sorry. I wish I could help. I would have come with you if I’d gotten your calls.”

                “ _It’s fine, really. It’s probably better that you aren’t here…”_ She pauses, with the crackle of the phone line filling the silence. “ _Shit, we had the breakfast thing this morning, didn’t we?”_

“Yeah. I’ll just go alone. It’s fine.”

                “ _Will you be okay? Seeing him again?”_

“I don’t know.” They genuinely don’t. It had been four years since they’d absconded, leaving Bolin with two of the worst foster parents one could ask for. Who knew what could have changed about their brother since then?

                “ _You don’t have to go, you know. Just call Opal. Tell her you can’t make it.”_

“No.” The response is instinctive. “I have to go. It’s now or never.”

                “ _Alright. Augh, I have to hang up. Be careful, okay? He’s probably just as nervous about seeing you.”_

“I don’t think he knows it’s me. I never told Opal he was my brother.”

                “ _Well, let’s just hope he doesn’t keel over at how much more handsome you’ve gotten.”_ They can practically hear her winking.

                “Shut up.”

                “ _I’m just teasing! It’ll be fine. I really do need to go, though. Good luck!”_

“And good luck with you dad. I hope everything’s ok.”

                “ _Thanks… Me too. Bye, Mako. Call me after breakfast, okay?”_

“Sure thing.”

***

                Bolin dresses casually and half-styles his hair, hoping to give the impression of “woke-up-late-but-I-still-look-flawless-because-I’m-naturally-gorgeous.” Opal would love it. A dungaree shirt layered under a forest green sweater, paired with straight khakis and dark brown Toms. _I didn’t even have time to wear tied shoes. Smart. She’ll dig it._ The single analog alarm clock on his nightstand reads 7:44, exactly one minute before the belle would arrive in her little white car. He’d truly been up for far longer, having jolted awake at 6:18 for a reason unknown to himself.

                Opal arrives right on time, sweeping through his apartment in a simple beige maxi dress. She appears as the face of the sun itself, despite her simple dressing.

                “Bolin! You look great,” she announces as she lands a gentle kiss on his cheek. “You ready to go?”

                “Yeah, I, uh…” Blushing furiously, he fumbles for words in a futile attempt to sound apathetic, yet loving. “I totally forgot you were coming… Babe.”

                “Whatever you say,” she giggles. “Come on, we’ll be late.” As they exit the modest apartment, he snags a threadbare, crimson scarf from a hook near the door and tosses it across his shoulder.

***

Huan rolls out of bed at 8:57 that morning. Literally— the impact of his body against the carpet jolts him awake. The bed is left vacant, satin sheets unnaturally rumpled from the night before. He smirks, knowing full well he’d have to wash them that day. Mako’s reaction to their kiss was incredibly plain, but they hadn’t hesitated to follow him to the bedroom for a drunken romp afterwards.

He barely remembers what really happened, only that his partner finished second and immediately escaped to their own room for sleep, as if they hadn’t enjoyed it at all. Sure, he’d had a thing for Mako since they’d first moved in, but the true initiative to act on it was absent until the night before. Perhaps the idea of them meeting up with an ex (or whatever he was) the next day drove him to desperation, a last-minute attempt to gain the affection of his stoic roommate.

***

                “So,” Bolin asks before cramming a second McDonald’s hash brown into his mouth, “who’s this guy we’re meeting with?”

                “Not _guy_ , Bolin.” Opal groans, “ _Person._ I already explained this.”

                He snorts. “Whatever. Person.”

                “They’re my brother’s roommate. I think you’ll like them, really!” She wags a finger. “You _have_ to use the right pronouns and terms, though. It’s important.”

                “Alright, alright. I’ll be careful.”

                “Thank you.” She scoffs. “By the way, why did you make me stop for McD’s? We’re going to breakfast.”

                “I was hungry and it’s a 20 minute ride to the place! You can’t expect this appetite to wait.”

                She gives him a playful slug on the arm. “You’re adorable. We’ll be there in just a minute, so finish up.”

                “Already done! That was the last hash brown. Unfortunately. They’re delicious.”

                Opal rolls her eyes and pulls into the restaurant lot, parking next to an incredibly lavish car. It appears extremely out of place at the modest strip mall, surrounded by countless sedans and SUVs, with its glossy black exterior and teal accents.

                “Ooh, cool!” Bolin exclaims as he climbs onto the pavement, “That’s a Lamborghini! Wonder who’s here? Gotta be someone loaded.”

                “That’s my brother’s. He must have let Mako borrow it.”

                Bolin stares at her blankly, his jaw hanging open in quiet astonishment.

                “What?” She inquires, “You know we have money.”

                “No,” he replies shakily. “That’s not it. What was that name again?”

                “Mako. I told you this already, when you were talking about your brother.”

                He continues staring. “I guess I forgot. Got caught up in the moment or something.”

                “You ok?”

                “Yeah.” A lie. “It’s nothing.” A lump rises in his throat. _There’s no way_.

                “Alright, then let’s go inside. We’re already late.” Opal takes his hand, her smooth, dainty fingers awkwardly colliding with his husky ones. He’s distracted. Unfocused. _There’s no way it’s him._ The girl’s hand fidgets in an attempt to rest more comfortably in his palm. He doesn’t notice. “Work with me here, Bolin.”

                “Sorry,” he mutters as he releases his grip, allowing her to intertwine their fingers perfectly. Well, not _quite_ perfectly. The fit is awkward, and he feels as if he might crush her slender digits if he squeezes too hard. _Never had this problem with Mako._ He swallows hard at the thought, trying to force it away. No matter what he did, it always seemed to circle back to Mako. Or the idealized relationship between them during those fragile months of adolescence. Oh, how he craved to relive those moments. He wished Opal’s hand possessed the same warmth, the same comfort as his brother’s, but it’s icy cold against his palm in comparison.He wished someone would look at him as his brother once had, with graceful fingers stroking past his ruddy cheeks in the twilight.

                Nothing could prepare him for the ultimate reality he would soon face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about the lack of a chapter last week! I was sick and didn't have any motivation to write unu


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